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“She carried the loose papers . . , and set them to Imrn." — Page SO. 





For the White Rose 


BY 

KATHARINE TYNAN HINKSON 

I » 

Author of '‘‘‘The Great Captain f 
^'The Queen's Page," Etc. 



NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO : 

BEN^IOKR BROTHERS, 

Printers to the Holy Apostolic See. 

1905. 



U3RARVof '5r*MaKt£sS 
fwis Oopi0« rtecavwji 

NOV 3 

Oopyriani tjx^x 
2 . / 90 6" 
<x m. na 

I 36 X^X 

copr s. 


Copyright, 1905, by Benziger Brothers. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

The Cradle of a Friendship 7 

CHAPTER 11 . 

“Loyaulte!” 24 

CHAPTER III. 

I Follow my Lady 39 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Days before the Storm 56 

CHAPTER V. 

Disaster 73 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Journey to London 89 

CHAPTER VII. 

In the Shadow of Death 105 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The Escape 119 


( 


FOR THE WHITE ROSE. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE CRADLE OF A FRIENDSHIP. 

J WILL tell you how I, Jane Evans, 
came to throw in my lot with the 
Lady Nithsdale, and to be with her dur- 
ing those strange and stirring events of 
which by this time all the world has 
heard. 

When first I laid eyes upon her, I, the 
seventh daughter of a poor Welsh gentle- 
man, was English governess at the Abbey 
school of Guimperle in Brittany, and she 
was of the school-children. Her sister 
was the Lady Abbess; and she, M’elle 
Amy as they called her, impressed me 
at first sight as one of the most charming 
creatures imaginable. 


7 


8 


The Cradle of a Friendship. 


Her hair, of the ripest, dullest gold, 
framed a face pale as a rose and no paler. 
She had fearless eyes of a fine gray hazel, 
and a very sweet, proud mouth. 

As for me somewhat homesick among 
so many French her love was the most 
cordial thing that had been given to me. 

I was sitting in the long schoolroom, 
with my head in my hands in the mel- 
ancholy twilight of a Summer evening, 
sick for home. The. admirable romance 
Rasselas lay open on my desk; I was 
supposed to be reading while the chil- 
dren romped and played before night- 
prayers, in the garden by the sand 
dunes for the hour before bed-time. The 
tears had, in spite of myself, clouded 
my eyes. My spirit was looking not at 
the schoolroom walls with their dull maps 
and the cupboards full of school-books. 


The Cradle of a Friendship. 


9 

Instead it saw the shining estuary of the 
sea where it flowed between mountains; 
the poor pastures of my beloved home; 
my mother with her lace lappets and 
fichu ; my father with great horn-framed 
spectacles upon his nose reading his 
classics ; all the young brothers and 
sisters at work and at play in that room 
where love ruled instead of fear. I 
turned sick for it. 

Presently I heard light footsteps racing 
along the corridor, and tried hastily to 
compose myself for the eyes of a pupil, 
taking up my Rasselas and holding it be- 
fore my face although the tears obscured 
the page. I hoped that the child, who- 
ever she was, might come and go without 
troubling me; but as I sat there I was 
suddenly wrapped in the golden fleece of 
the little Scotch girl, and held a second 


lO 


The Cradle of a Friendship. 


against a beating heart. Then I was re- 
leased. ‘‘Ah, forgive me, Mademoi- 
selle!” she cried: “but I thought of you 
out there where the others are so happy. 
I thought upon you, fretting as I have 
done for the moor and the heather and 
the cry of the curlew — fretting so for 
your own land. I only, amid all those 
French girls could understand. I felt I 
must try to comfort you.” 

I too have the Celtic blood, and have 
hot impulses. I took up a strand of 
her golden hair and kissed it. From 
that moment I was devoted to her with 
all my heart. 

The other children had their devotions 
for particular nuns. Her devotion was 
for me, and we had a different way, we 
Islanders. Ours was more of a thorough- 
going friendship; and my little lady, I 


The Cradle of a Friendship. 


II 


think, scorned the sentimental ways of 
the French girls towards the objects of 
their affection. I would have been shy 
and stupid among them ; we had so little 
in common. I should have been forever 
lonely, for kind as the nuns were I was 
not of them, and they were all French 
except Madame, the Lady Abbess, my 
little lady’s sister. But her love made my 
desert to blossom like the rose. 

She was then fourteen and I eighteen; 
just four years between us. I was al- 
ways plain, though she would not have 
it so. ‘‘Ah,” she would say, “you are 
clear and fresh like your mountains,” and 
she would stroke my high-colored, high- 
boned cheeks, and ruffle up my red hair. 

It increased my consideration among 
the French girls that M’elle Amy loved 
me; and was ready to champion me if 


12 


The Cradle of a Friendship. 


need be. I was also much in the favors 
of the Lady Abbess, who knew the 
history of my family and how my father 
was poor because his father had em- 
braced the faith. We did not often see 
her. The Abbey of Guimperle was a 
great place and its Lady Abbess had many 
duties; but she smiled on my friendship 
with her sister, and she honored me 
by her confidence about her. 

“Do you think Amy will stay with us ?’' 
she asked me one day. 

“Do you mean in the Abbey, Mad- 
ame?” I asked; “as a nun?” 

“Yes, I should like her to stay here if 
it were God's will. The world is so full 
of dangers, and she is a noble child.” 

“Why, Madame,” I said, “the world 
has need of such.” 

She smiled, a fine, charming smile, full 


The Cradle of a Friendship. 

of drollery that reminded me of my little 
lady. 

“You will never make a nun, Jane,” 
she said. “I saw that the first minute 
I laid eyes upon you. Yet your father 
could spare one of his seven to the 
Church. I would have kept you had you 
been willing to stay.” 

“Ah, Madame,” I said, “Guimperle 
could not content me. I am in exile away 
from my own land, and my own people.” 

“It is only that the Lord has not called 
you,” she said gently. “I have been 
homesick too; but I shall never look on 
bonny Scotland again.” 

There was so great a sadness in her 
voice that I could only gaze at her pity- 
ingly — the great Lady Abbess of Guim- 
perle, with its hundred nuns, its leagues 
of land and water, and its many depen- 


14 


The Cradle of a Friendship. 


dent Convents. She was the greatest 
person who had ever come into my nar- 
row life: but here she stood revealed to 
me with a greater sorrow of exile than 
I knew, borne so splendidly. 

‘‘There, child,’’ she said smiling at me, 
“sacrifices are easy, made for such a 
Master. But I thought Amy might stay. 
She is a pious child.” 

“She would die for her religion,” I 
made reply: “she is of the true stuff of 
a soldier. But would you have all such 
shut away in Convents, Madame?” 

“It is of the child herself I think. 
There are troublesome days coming for 
Scotland: and our Highland glen will 
not shelter those whp are true to King 
James. Our mother left her to me. You 
see what a rare spirit it is ! I am afraid 
of the world for it.” 


The Cradle of a Friendship. 


15 

‘Why, God is in the world as well as 
in the cloister,”^! said boldly. 

“That is true enough: and I am sure 
the child will be brave and pious where- 
ever she is. Has she ever spoken to you 
of the Lord Nithsdale?’' 

“The playmate of her childhood? Yes; 
she has spoken of him.” 

“Our father would marry them. She 
knows nothing of it, of course: but he 
is an excellent young gentleman, of great 
natural parts, very brave and handsome 
and gentle as well. It would be a suitable 
marriage. He is of a family that has 
never lost the faith : and he is devoted to 
the king over the water.” 

I could not forbear to reproach her, 
great lady although she was. 

“Yet you would keep her here, Mad- 
ame,” I said. 


1 6 The Cradle of a Friendship. 

‘‘Because I am overtimid/^ she ans- 
wered me sweetly. The young Blackbird 
grows restive in the nest at St. Germain’s. 
He will soon be on the ' wing. And 
where would he fly to but to the glens 
of bonny Scotland?” 

“And then?” 

“Many a gallant gentleman will be laid 
low ere ever the king will come to his 
own again.” 

Yet her eyes flashed it as she said it. 
She had not forgotten how her fathers 
had fought for the Stuarts and called 
it the cause of God and Justice. 

“I would not have my little sister a 
widow,” she went on, “or the wife of an 
outlawed husband, with a name pro- 
scribed and banned. I would have her 
a happy woman.” 


“That is in the hands of God.” 


The Cradle of a Friendship. 


17 

‘‘Ah, you are right, and she will be 
no less in His hands in the world than 
here. You rebuke my want of faith.” 

“Oh, Madame!” 

“Yes, my child. God often requires 
us to be passive rather than active. I 
will leave it to Him.” 

As I recall her words I recall also the 
scene in which they were spoken. Behind 
us stood the great building of the Abbey 
with its square courtyard enclosed by the 
projecting wings. We were in a little 
bower formed of a weeping willow. In 
its branches they had set a niche contain- 
ing a statue of the good Saint Anne, — 
St. Anne D’Auray. In front of us lay 
the nuns' garden. It was sheltered from 
the East by the Abbey, from the North 
by a belt of woodland, and the sandy soil 
grew roses in great abundance. It was 


l8 The Cradle of a Friendship. 

SO large that we lost the impression of 
its being walled in more especially as the 
wall that divided it from the sand-dunes 
and the sea was low, and covered with 
dwarf fruit trees. Sitting where we were 
on a greater height we looked over the 
wall without seeing it. Up and down the 
path at the foot white-veiled novices 
walked in pairs, telling their rosary, dis- 
appearing to reappear, under arches of 
roses. Where they walked was the kit- 
chen garden, and we could see the little 
apples already on the boughs, and the 
scarlet cherries in the nets. The peace 
and beauty of it smote me like a fore- 
boding. 

‘‘The world may well seem a place of 
storms after this,’' I said. 

“Ah, you feel it, my child,” the Abbess, 
said, looking at me kindly. “So you can 


The Cradle of a Friendship. 


19 

understand why the human part of me 
longed to keep her.” 

‘‘He gives not peace but a sword/^ I 
said. 

“Where do you get your thoughts?’’ 
she asked wonderingly — “you are young 
to be so serious.” 

“Perhaps the mountains made me 
grave, Madame,” I answered. “There 
was plenty of gaiety in my home; but 
I have lived much with the mountains.” 

“Other mountains than ours?” she 
asked wistfully. “Ours are dark and 
great and frowning with the clouds ever 
upon them.” 

“Ours are as often blue and smiling 
though they can tear a cloud into tatters 
and drape themselves with it,” I replied. 

The Abbess sighed. 

“I think there will be hills in heaven. 


20 


The Cradle of a Friendship, 


Jane/' she said, '‘hills, and moors of 
heather across which the plover and the 
moor-cock call, and singing burns. There 
will not be only the sand-dunes and the 
sea?” 

"Surely not,” said I, "or some of us 
would yet be homesick.” 

"You will say nothing to the child 
about the Lord Nithsdale; she is o’er 
young to think upon such things.” 

"Madame, I am honored that you 
should have trusted me,” I replied, with 
a formality of manner that is as much 
mine as my high cheek-bones and my 
reddish hair. 

"I have watched you since I discovered 
that Amy loved you. She is a shrewd 
child. She makes no mistakes.” 

I blushed with pleasure at the praise. 
"I would die for her, Madame,” I said. 


The Cradle of a Friendship. 2 1 

‘‘Live for her, Jane! Be with her in 
this troublous world if God sets her there. 
Be beside her, wise and kind. Ah, if I 
had not watched and made up my mind 
upon you would I have been giving you 
my heart like this?’’ 

“’Tis too much honor, Madame,” I 
faltered. 

The Abbess of Guimperle smoothed 
out the folds of her blue habit. I saw 
the gold crucifix on her breast rise and 
fall as though she were moved. 

“When she returns to Scotland you 
will go with her?” she asked. 

“I shall have no higher honor and duty.” 

“Your father and mother will give you 
up?” 

“Alas, they cannot keep us; there are 
too many of us in the home-nest. Not 
that I desire to stay, — from her.” 


22 


The Cradle of a Friendship. 


“Hark, do you hear her laughter? She 
is leading the children at their play as 
usual. God keep her long so, with the 
heart of a child.” 

The face of the Abbess was like the 
face of a mother rather than an elder 
sister’s at that moment. As I looked at 
her sideways I caught a glimpse of the 
statue above us. 

“Why, ’tis of good omen, Madame,” 
I said. We talk under the protection of 
the good St. Anne.” 

“May she pray for her, and her pro- 
tection be with her when she has gone 
beyond this peace!” said the Abbess 
fervently. 

Then she walked with me towards the 
children’s playground. 

“It has eased my heart to talk with 
you,” she said. “You are wise beyond 


The Cradle of a Friendship, 


23 

your years, Jane, or it had not been so. 
You must never leave her, Jane.” 

“I never shall, Madame.” 

“Ah ! perhaps I ask too much. There 
may be other calls, other duties . . . . ” 
“There will be none before that. I am 
loyal, loyal as she is herself.” 

At this moment she came flying to us, 
with her golden fleece carried behind her 
in the breeze. Her face that was like a 
pink-tinged white rose was glowing, and 
her eyes dancing from the wholesome 
pleasure of the game. She embraced us 
each in turn : but I could not help notic- 
ing, and my heart swelled with pride, that 
the first embrace was for me, not for the 
Lady Abbess of Guimperle, her much be- 
loved sister. 


CHAPTER II. 


“loyaulte !” 

J N the third year of my abode at Guim- 
perle I was of a sudden summoned 
home by the grave illness of my father. 
We watched over him and tended him, 
day and night, till at last, by the mercy of 
God, he was restored to us. But it was 
long ere we could hope to have him as 
he was, and in those days he took all, or 
nearly all my thoughts. Now that he 
was recovering well there was a neigh- 
bor of ours, a young Welsh gentleman 
named Griffith Morgan, who helped us 
to soothe the hours that had else been 
weary, as in the days of our fear and 
trouble he had ever been ready to do 


24 


Loyaulte! 


25 

all such things as required a man’s aid. 
Certainly he was most kind and most 
helpful, handsome too and with a ready 
tongue. And as for his virtue you had 
but to hear his mother speak to know 
him for what he was. Why, his very 
coming into a room I have seen so 
lighten her comely and honest face that 
it seemed to me to have something in it 
of divine. 

Mother and son dwelt together in a 
gray house built of our Welsh stone, over 
across the estuary. When I looked from 
my window of mornings I have seen the 
East sun redden all its panes. Although 
’twas gray, ’twas homely, like the mount- 
tainous countries that are dearer to 
their children than the most fertile plains 
to theirs. He had a small competency; 
and had carried the sword like his fathers 


26 


Loyaulte! 


only that he loved not King George; 
which I will not say endeared him the 
less to me. So he had turned his sword 
to a ploughshare, and tilled his lands. 
And also he dug stone and slate from his 
quarries. He had every man’s good-will, 
and he and his mother lived in much hap- 
piness and content; though that good 
soul, Mrs. Morgan, would avow half- 
playfully that it grieved her to death 
her son could not bring her home a 
daughter .... 

When ’twas said it vexed me to find 
my cheeks flushing beyond their want, 
and my heart beating, which made me 
no doubt more chilly to an honest gentle- 
man than he deserved. Indeed he de- 
served nothing but good things at my 
hands: and it troubled me that I must 
deal him things otherwise. 


Loyaulte! 


For though a year and two years 
passed, and there was no word of my 
little lady, yet was her image in my 
heart not faded at all, and nothing, I 
said, could lower it from the state it 
held there. 

Nor had I forgotten my promise to 
the Lady Abbess of Guimperle. Once 
a lugger putting into our bay had brought 
me a stout wooden box from the place 
that by reason of one bright presence had 
become as dear to me as my home. 
Within there was a great stock of the 
things that nuns delight to make, con- 
fits, cordial waters, sugared fruits, and 
flowers, together with many pious em- 
blems and devices. It warmed my heart 
that they should so have thought of me. 
But the thing that gave me most joy 
was a gift of a scarf and handkerchiefs 


28 


Loyaulte! 


from my little lady herself, of faint mus- 
lin prettily decorated with her flower, the 
violet, and bearing in a corner, her name, 
and the motto of her house ‘‘Loyaulte.” 

I think both my father and my mother 
were puzzled to account for my coldness 
to one who was dear to them. I doubted 
not that they discussed the matter, for 
once when I had been clear-starching my 
mother’s ruffles, — I had learnt in France 
the care of old lace and such precious 
frailties, — she came in upon me to the 
hillside garden where I had been setting 
them in the sun, stretched upon a board. 

“Jenny,” said she to me, “you are a 
dear and most useful daughter.” 

“I am too home-keeping,” I said ; “’tis 
time I were in the world again.” 

“I think there need be no more of that, 
Jenny.” 


Loyaulte! 


29 

“Well, I think not so,'’ said I, “for 
though father has a little prosperity the 
more this year, yet there be many mouths 
to feed.” 

“Why I was thinking,” she said, be- 
traying to me what was in her mind, 
“that perhaps you thought we could not 
do without you.” 

“I had truly no such conceit of myself.” 

My mother smiled at me fondly. 

“We could do but ill, dear,” she said, 
“though Martha and Rebecca are grow- 
ing up in your footsteps. But think not 
that we could not bear the parting if 
it were but for your good, our good 
daughter.” 

“I had rather be your good daughter 
and father’s than many other things,” I 
said soberly. 

She refrained from saying more. 


LoyaultS! 


30 

Though there were so many of us it was 
a part of our nature that we did not 
justle each other’s thoughts. Strait and 
narrow might be the^ rooms of our be- 
loved home to hold so many; but in the 
Kingdom of our souls we went alone, or 
with what company we would keep. I 
had known my mother would not ask 
me directly what she wanted to know. 

I had told them nothing of that pact 
made , with my little lady and with the 
Abbess. A double pact it was for though 
I had left the Abbey in haste and with 
tears my little lady had had time to 
whisper me that my place must be with 
her in the world. And though for long 
I had heard nothing from her, I never 
feared that she had forgotten. She was 
no great hand with the pen, clever and 
charming as she was; and but one long 


Loyaulte! 


31 


budget had come from her during these 
years, and that within the great box from 
the Abbey. 

I was silent with my own folk, not 
that I feared their opposing me, but that 
I had thought it would be time when she 
came to speak; and as the months grew 
to years and she came not I thought- I 
would see it in their eyes that they 
thought she had forgotten. But because 
I knew she would come I sought no 
other place in the world : and this puzzled 
those who looked on at Griffith Morgan's 

% 

wooing of me. For that I should stay 
for his sake were conceivable enough. 
Yet I kept him off as it were with both 
hands: and that was plain for all the 
world to see. 

Often I said to myself that he had 
better choose my sister Martha, who was 


32 


Loyaulte! 


prettier than I and was free. Yet I was 
not sure I wished it: and he gave me 
no chance to drive him away from me 
altogether. He surrounded my path with 
kindnesses unnumbered; but never said 
he a word to me to which I could answer 
that we were not for each other. He 
looked as if he could be patient a long 
time, which disquieted me, for I desired 
no hindrances in my path to her I loved. 

Yet there were times when I said to 
myself, — “What if she has no need of 
you ?” — knowing all the time that it could 
not be true. The one case in which I 
could not serve her would be if it hap- 
pened after all that she would take the 
veil as her sister had desired for her. 
Then indeed I should be free to belong 
to another who needed me. But while 
she needed me I was hers. I asked no 


Loyaulte! 


better device than that of her house, 
Loyaulte: the word shone before my 
eyes like a white flame upon the dark. 

And ever I kept my gear packed as 
for a journey. The boxes which I had 
had at the Abbey, smelling of lavender 
and woodruff, still held their store of 
linen and other apparel. When she would 
come for me, or send for me, she would 
not need to wait. If my mother knew 
that this was so she must have marvelled ; 
but she said nothing. Perhaps she did 
not know; for my chamber in the roof 
was sacred to myself, and she would not 
have gone there in my absence. 

After all it happened suddenly, — with- 
out warning, as indeed I had imagined 
it might happen. I had looked out of 
window one morning just as the sun had 
risen, with what design I know not, and 


Loyaulte! 


34 

had seen a mile down the estuary a white- 
sailed vessel anchored there which must 
have come in in the night. 

I stood watching the sun make tender 
colors of the white sails and white sides 
of the vessel, which was bright as a sea- 
bird, little knowing that she held my fate. 
Then my gaze returned to our neighbor- 
ing house opposite where already the 
chimneys smoked. Presently the house- 
door opened, and the master came forth 
with his dogs, and standing there in the 
bright morning sunshine looked towards 
me so directly that I retired in haste be- 
hind my window-curtains. 

Some hours later, when I had finished 
baking the bread and was busy in the 
dairy skimming the milk from the pans 
for the churning, there came some of the 
children calling in a great excitement that 


Loyaulte! 


35 

there was a beautiful boat being rowed 
to shore in the direction of our house. 
‘‘And there is a . lady in the bows,” 
shrieked little Jenkin, who is an excitable 
boy, “all clad in white with hair like 
the sun.” 

I did not run up to change my apparel 
as another would have done. I knew the 
parting of the ways had come, and I felt 
stunned. So I went on skimming of the 
cream, in my great white apron, till sud- 
denly the door of the low, sweet-smelling 
place was flung open, and in rushed my 
lady all in a whirl and flung her arms 
about me. After came Rebecca and 
Martha smiling, and a crowd of little 
ones peeped at their skirts. 

“She would come,” cried Martha, 
“though we told her ’twas a poor, damp 
place, unbefitting the Lady Nithsdale.” 


36 


LoyaultS! 


“What! you are that?’’ I cried, hold- 
ing her oflf a little to look at her. 

“Why yes,” she said, and I could see 
even in that dim light the glow of her 
cheeks, — “since yesterday se’night: and 
have brought you wedding-favors, my 
Janet, and my lord to help me in carry- 
ing you off.” 

“I want to look at you,” I said, “to see 
you as a bride. Come away with me 
out of this dim place.” 

We went upstairs then, past the parlor 
where her bridegroom sat with my par- 
ents, though she would fain have carried 
me in to him, great apron and all. Up- 
stairs to the high white light of my room 
in the roof. Then when I had set her 
in the midst I looked long at her. 

She was wearing a close-fitting habit 
of white cloth cut out in tabs upon the 


Loyaulte! 


hips, and slightly ornamented with gold. 
Her hat was of white with great plumes : 
and altogether she made a most gallant 
figure. The gold of her hair without 
powder flowed about her face like the 
hair of a child-angel : and her expression 
was one of such perfect contentment that 
it made me glad to see. 

She had been a child when I had seen 
her last. Now despite her tender ways 
and her simplicity she was a great lady. 

‘‘Well, Janet,” she laughed. “Well, 
Sobersides, am I altered greatly?” 

“For the better though I had not be- 
lieved it possible,” I replied. “I am ready 
to go with you, when you will, my be- 
loved lady and mistress.” 

“Why, that is right, Janet,” she said. 
“For I do not know how I could have 
done without you. The rowers wait. 


^8 ** Loyaulte ! *’ 

Janet, and we only need a little wind to 
get out/' 

‘‘Must we go so soon?” I asked. “My 
mother would be grieved if you did not 
break bread under our roof.” 

“Then we shall break it, Janet,” she 
said. “Could I grieve that sweet mother ? 
It will be hard to leave them.” 

“I can give up all for you,” I said, her 
old charm for me rushing like a flood 
upon my heart. 

“'Tis well there is none you love as 
tenderly as I love Nithsdale,” she said, 
“or I should have to yield you.” 

Alas, as she said it I felt the blood 
flooding my foolish cheeks. 

She looked at me with a flash of illum- 
ination. Then she said no more: and 
I was grateful that she did not ask 
questions. 


CHAPTER III. 

I FOLLOW MY LADY. 

^^FTER that we went downstairs and 
I was presented to the Lord Niths- 
dale: and jealous as I would be of my 
lady’s choice I could not but feel she 
had chosen well. 

He was as dark as she was fair, about 
twenty-five years of age, very tall and 
strong-looking, with a quick sweet smile 
that showed white teeth, and merry eyes. 
He was wearing the dress of a High- 
lander, and had an eagle’s feather in his 
bonnet, and he came to greet his lady as 
she entered with the air of a proud and 


39 


40 


I Follow my Lady. 


happy bridegroom, so that I saw he es- 
teemed rightly the jewel he had won. 

Over my hand he bowed low, and 
lifted it to his lips, with a gracious 
courtsey, so that I almost smiled to see 
it, my hand being somewhat rough and 
reddened with household toils; yet his 
manner was as to the hand of Beauty. 

My mother and my father, sitting each 
side of the open window that looked 
across the water to the hills beyond, 
seemed by their expression at once serious 
and pleased, so that I judged they were 
grieved to lose me, yet had already lost 
their hearts to my lady and her lord. 

‘‘You will give her to me,'’ said my 
lady with her hand on the back of my 
mother’s great chair. 

doubt I could keep her if I would,” 
said my mother: ‘‘yet she is a dear and 


I Follow my Lady. 


41 


faithful child ; and Scotland is a long way, 
my Lady Nithsdale, and we grow old/^ 
“Not so long,’' said my lady, “but 
Janet will return to see her own folk. 
And you will come over the Border too, 
and see our bonny Scotland for your- 
sel’s.” 

At this my mother smiled and sighed, 
and feared she was too old for any such 
journeys; but my lady would not hear 
of such a thing. 

Afterwards I was busy and left them 
together, for there was not only to finish 
my preparations for going with my lady, 
but there was to see that the best our 
poor house could afford should be set be- 
fore her and her lord. % 

Afterwards looking from my window 
I saw the Earl and my father walk upon 
the shore each apparently well-pleased 


42 


/ Follow my Lady. 


with the other’s discourse, and I wondered 
what they could have to say to each other. 
As to my lady and my mother that was 
another matter, for I knew my lady’s art 
to please, which was really because of her 
good heart that was so deeply concerned 
in the affairs of others. 

Before I set the meal on the table be- 
fore them I was ready for the journey, 
for there was a ripple of wind on the 
water, and I would not they should be 
hindered because of me. That my lady 
should have come seeking me in her new 
happiness, and make even a honeymoon- 
matter of it that her Jane should be with 
her, did make me love her more tenderly 
and gratefully if that were possible. And 
yet though I knew that I must go, my 
sorrow at leaving was greater than I 
could have believed possible. 


I Follow my Lady. 


43 


Through all my last words with my 
mother, while she pressed me to her heart 
and blessed me again and again, I mar- 
velled that she said nothing of our kind 
neighbors and friends in the gray stone 
bouse that was hardly ever out of our 
sights. And so strange is the human 
heart that for a moment I was angry 
with what I esteemed her forgetfulness. 
For, I thought, it is no wonder that I 
should set my lady before all else, seeing 
that my love for her hath been a thing of 
long growth, and that I knew all her de- 
serving. But others should not forget 
old and tried friends even for her who 
laid spells in the hearts of all. Yet as the 
sequel proved I but wronged my sweet 
mother. 

They were in delight with what they 
saw, a happy boy and girl, shedding the 


I Follow my Lady. 


44 

radiance of their own joy on all about 
them, so that they had never eaten any- 
thing so sweet as our lean chickens and 
home-cured bacon; and my sister Mar- 
tha’s syllabub was better than the nectar 
of the gods, they vowed. While they ate 
and praised, my father and my mother 
ate not at all, for pleasure to see the 
young couple eat so well of our homely 
fare. It was true they had sailors’ ap- 
petites; and that no doubt seemed to 
make everything good. 

Yet another sweetness of my lady I 
must not forget to tell. They had put in 
to Leith a day or two after their wedding : 
and from Edinbro’ had brought gifts for 
everyone of our household, whose names 
and estates my lady had learned from 
me in the old days at Guimperle, and 
had never forgotten. A flowered tabinet 


I Follow my Lady. 


45 


and a fine lace fichu for my mother : ruffles 
for my father, with a silver-headed stout 
staff to help him when he climbed, and a 
fine new spy-glass. Sacques of muslin 
with petticoats of satin for my sisters, 
Martha and Rebecca ; a gun for my oldest 
brother, a watch for Matthew, a fishing 
rod for Jenkin; for little Sukey a mob- 
cap and a pinafore of organdy tied up 
with lustring. None had been forgotten; 
and it was delightful to see my lady clap 
her hands at each new gift my lord drew 
from the great chest the sailors had car- 
ried ashore. 

It was no wonder they had captivated 
my family so that all else seemed put 
out of mind. Only little Jenkin called 
out at the last that Griffith Morgan would 
be wild to come and find me gone. If I 
went back and kissed him twice when all 


46 J Follow my Lady. 

the farewells had been said it was be- 
cause my heart cried out at this seeming 
forgetfulness of friends. 

So at last we were off, and so intent 
was I in those dear faces by the^ landing- 
stage, growing momentarily dimmer and 
fainter, that I did not notice the way we 
took. Indeed it was my lady’s voice dis- 
pelled my thoughts. My lord was at the 
tiller, and we sat amidships heaped, about 
with silken cushions, and my lady’s hand 
was on mine. 

“Janet,” she whispered me, “do you see 
whither we are going?” 

I looked about me then and stared when 
I saw the boat leading for the landing- 
place below Griffith Morgan’s house. 

“I thought there were other friends to 
bid farewell to, Janet,” she whispered. 

Then I guessed that my mother had 


/ Follow my Lady. 


47 


spoken to her, and I was grieved for the 
injustice of my thoughts. But hard upon 
that followed my joy that I was not to 
leave those friends so coldly, for indeed 
it had grieved me: and though I had 
composed in my thoughts phrases of a 
letter in which I asked forgiveness for 
going so hastily and coldly, yet ’twas no 
light matter but a slow and uncertain 
thing to get letters from Scotland to 
Wales, and how many days of offence 
and pain had to be borne ere my letter 
should reach my friends ! 

“I was grieving,’' I whispered her 
back, ‘'that I had left no message of fare- 
well with my mother. But she seemed 
as though she had forgotten.” 

“Ah, you wronged her there, Janet,” 
said my lady, shaking her bright head. 

Then we had come up to the boat slip. 


^8 J Follow my Lady. 

and were put ashore by the steps in the 
rock. 

‘‘I am coming too, Janet,” said my 
lady, smiling, “and if we stay overlong 
my lord will come to hasten us.” 

Now my thoughts were in a whirl as 
we approached the house, for my heart 
was so wrung by this parting that I did 
not know but I might yield now the 
kindness I had refused so long, and what 
use would it be, since I had promised 
never to leave my lady? Indeed, I won- 
dered why she had brought me hither 
seeing that she had laid a lien on my 
whole life. 

We found but Mrs. Morgan within: 
but she on hearing wherefore we had 
come immediately despatched a messen- 
ger for her son. While we waited my lady 
wound herself round that good soul’s af- 


I Follow my Lady. 


49 

fections as she had done with those I 
had left behind. So that she forgot her 
lamentations for my going in her delight 
with her guest. 

At last while we sipped cowslip wine, 
Griffith Morgan came in. He was in 
his workaday garb, but he looked so 
honest and manly that I had no need to 
be ashamed of my friend even before 
my lady. 

He did not at first know why he was 
sent for, but when my lady herself had 
explained to him that I came to say 
good-bye, his face became stormy, so that 
I was a little afraid. Then my lady said 
to him in a hurried, sweet way that she 
did not mean her Janet to lose all her 
friends because of great love and faith 
towards her. ‘^You will come in to Scot- 
land to see her, Master Morgan,” she 


I Follow my Lady. 


50 

urged : and my friend’s face cleared, for 
I think he had the wit to see that my 
lady’s advocacy might prove his best 
friend. 

Then, as if by magic, I found myself 
alone with him, and he began pleading 
his cause so tenderly and earnestly that 
I wondered how I had the heart to resist 
him; and certainly could not have done 
so if it had not been that that heart had 
been given to my lady long since. 

At last he put it to me that if it might 
be consistent with my faith to my lady 
I should consent one day to marry him. 
Indeed I could not deny that it was but 
my bond with her kept me from yield- 
ing; so at last I consented if the two 
things might be reconciled one day that 
I should listen to him. 

Alas, too well we both knew that 


I Follow my Lady. 

stormy days were in store for all those 
who loved the Stuarts. It was so much 
a matter of notoriety that the Earl of 
Nithsdale was, where he ought to be, in 
the van of the cause, that it was perhaps 
no light matter for him to be in these 
regions. My lady’s need for me was like 
to be so great that for the present I must 
carry her no divided duty. 

It was but a poor crumb of hope to 
give to a man, yet my Griffith was so 
grateful that I judged by it how little 
hope he had had of even so much. It was 
my happiness that in this matter of the 
king over the water he was one at heart 
with us all, and was likely enough to be 
by the Earl’s side when fighting days 
should come. 

So we plighted a strange enough troth ; 
and a troth it was, for if I did not marry 


I Follow my Lady. 


52 

him I should marry no other. In the 
shadow of the present parting and the 
future trouble we kissed each other and 
solemnly commended each other to God. 

Then my lady and Mrs. Morgan re- 
turned, and my lady stood smiling at us, 
and said she: “Did you think I was 
going to take you away, Janet, with a 
pain at your heart? I, the happiest 
woman in the world!’’ 

Then while I stood there with bent 
head bewildered as to how I was to 
reconcile two loves and two duties, I 
felt Mrs. Morgan’s comfortable arms go 
about me, and heard her cry out that she 
blessed me who had made her son happy. 

“If it can be arranged,” I muttered 
stupidly. 

“And it shall be, dear soul,” said my 
lady, “for, Janet, I will not give you up. 


I Follow my Lady. 


53 

nor yet will I condemn you to a loss I 
would not suffer myself/’ 

Presently my lord came in and my lady 
ran to him drawing my shy Griffith with 
her. 

‘What can you do, Nithsdale,” she 
cried, “for this brave gentleman, so that 
Janet shall have her Jo, and I keep my 
Janet ?” 

“Why, sweetheart,” he replied, “would 
the gentleman be willing to enter the 
service of the Earl of Nithsdale?” 

“Speak for yourself. Master Morgan,” 
said the Countess, standing back. “Is it 
to be Janet and bonny Scotland?” 

I saw as in a dream the Earl rest his 
hand pleasantly on Griffith’s shoulder. 

“I want some one I can trust,” he said, 
“to ride my lands and gather my rents 
and sell and buy my cattle while I am 


54 


/ Follow my Lady. 


busy with .... other things. Will you be 
that man?” 

“Oh, my lord, could I refuse?” said 
Griffith. “Give me but a little time. 
This place is my home, and uprooting 
is not done in a day. But my mother!” 
he said turning to her as if he had only 
remembered. 

The tears stood in Mrs. Morgan’s eyes 
but she answered bravely: 

“I go wherever my boy’s happiness 
leads.” 

“There is a pleasant house, man,” 
said the Earl in a rallying way, “which 
would hold both mother and wife.” 

I could say nothing then to damp all 
that happiness, yet in my own heart I 
knew that I should not marry while the 
trouble overhung my lady, for no mat- 
ter how close I was to her person, were 


T Follow my Lady. 


55 

I a married woman my first duty would 
be not to her. I must be as free as 
might be for her sake, though I should 
never be wholly free, and mine own to 


give, again. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE DAYS BEFORE THE STORM. 

^HE Lord Nithsdale’s house of Tar- 
raglas in the Highlands is a great 
square place of gray stone with the 
moors stretching for miles about it. At 
first I confess I was a little sick for 
the sunshine and blue hills and blue sea 
of my own home, and this place seemed 
wild and forbidding so that even the 
great freedom of the moors was as 
nought but a prison. So too the great 
number of gillies about the Castle, speak- 
ing but broad Scots, did seem to me un- 
couth and barbarous. Yet in time I 
grew to love it all : and I was never so 
homeless as I had been in a flat and 


The Days before the Storm. 


57 

fertile country, for that I could not have 
borne. 

Within the house all was as different 
as possible from without. The stately 
rooms hung with silks and panelled with 
mirrors were luxurious beyond anything 
I had known : the rich carpets, and 
French chairs and settees of satin and 
gilding, made one forget the Highlands, 
till the reek of the turf-smoke that clung 
to everything came to bring remem- 
brance. 

The moors for miles were given over 
to the wild deer and the grouse, not to 
speak of the capercailzie, the moor-cock 
and other lesser birds. There were sheep 
out on the hills: and there were eagles 
who would sometimes swoop on a little 
lamb and carry him off for all his 
mother’s anguish. 


S8 


The Days before the Storm. 


Yet despite the distance from the 
world the Castle was never lonely. There 
came there many Scottish lords and 
ladies, all with great crowds of re- 
tainers, so that the Castle was often 
packed to the doors despite its great size. 
For the Highland hospitality would turn 
none away that begged admittance. 

My lady gave me a little room in 
her own suite so that I might ever be 
at her hand. It was a narrow room 
with a great window that looked over 
miles of moorland to the sea, a faint 
silver in the distance. The walls were 
panelled with chintz, and there were all 
the things that women love, low chairs 
and soft rugs, and a fire ever burning, 
and cupboards to store my treasures, 
and tea-cups and a tea-pot so that I 
might brew myself and a visitor the dish 


The Days before the Storm. 


59 


of tea that was already pushing the 
French coffee out of its place. 

I loved my little room, whose privacy 
even my lady respected, and would not 
have entered it unless I prayed her to 
come, though she must have known her 
presence made it the dearer. She would 
sometimes share my dish of tea, while 
the Duchesses of Roxburghe and Mont- 
rose, the Ladies Derwentwater and Ken- 
mure and their lords, the Lords Lovat 
and Balmerino, played ombre in the hall 
or otherwise amused themselves. She 
used to say laughingly that she was 
grown tired of fine company and must 
fly to me for seriousness. 

I can see her now in her sack and 
paniers of delicate flowered brocade over 
a satin petticoat, perched on the arm of 
a chair and poising the little tea-cup in 


6o The Days before the Storm. 

her hand. There were three colors that 
displayed her hair and skin to perfec- 
tion, and to these she clung: they were 
lilac, blue, and green of the color of 
the first leafage. A delicate, airy, fan- 
tastic thing she looked and the last in 
the world to bear that part she after- 
wards did. 

I did not court the company of the 
great folk: indeed, with true Welsh 
pride I shrank from it, and my lady un- 
derstood, and let me do as I would. I 
liked to look across the gallery into the 
hall when they sat at meat and gaze 
unseen at those noble lords, especially 
the Lords Kenmure and Derwentwater, 
who were with my lord in the Stuart 
cause. 

Some of the gentlemen would wear 
the Highland dress; others, and these 


The Days before the Storm. 


6i 


were not the Stuart lords, suits of white 
and dove-gray tabinet, with orders on 
their breasts, and their hair in a queue 
and powdered. The ladies were all splen- 
did, and all powdered and patched ex- 
cept my lady, who displayed her own 
beautiful complexion and hair. What 
hours those “heads” took to do and what* 
labor* for their Graces’ and their Lady- 
ships’ women! But I handled my lady’s 
golden fleece, none but I, and had but 
to brush it to have it fall about her in 
such waves of silk as might adorn the 
head of a lovely child. 

My duties were very light, and very 
sweet to me. I saw that others did their 
duty : and myself performed certain mat- 
ters which my lady held no menial could 
perform so well. I was with her at her 
lying down and rising up; I distilled 


62 


The Days before the Storm. 


her toilet waters and essences ; and made 
her sweet-balls and pomanders. I had 
care of the most delicate parts of her 
wardrobe, and I would see to the dust- 
ing of her china, and that her room had 
fresh flowers. Also, and this I esteemed 
most highly, I helped my lady in the 
care of the chapel. 

The chapel at Tarraglas was Within 
the walls of the house, shut off from 
the main corridor by a swinging door 
and a second corridor. It was little 
and very bright, with stained windows 
all its length that opened in the upper 
panes to let the air and the song of the 
birds through. Often have I knelt there 
at Mass of a Summer morning, and 
heard the moan of doves without the 
windows and the song of thrushes at the 
sill. 


The Days before the Storm. 6 ^ 

It was my lady’s will that nothing 
should be done there by the hands of 
servants. She would slip away from 
her fine company of a morning, and don 
a great housekeeping apron, and put a 
muslin mob-cap upon her hair, and 
would sweep the chapel in such a spirit 
of recollection and prayer as I remember 
to have seen the nuns at Guimperle do 
it. At this I would help her; and after- 
wards we would dust, and arrange fresh 
flowers. It was my honor to wash 
the altar-linen. Even the scrubbing my 
lady willed to perform and took such 
delight and pride in it that one could 
not gainsay her, nor could I lament over 
her delicate hands seeing for whom she 
wrought. She loved too to help in 
making and mending the altar-linen and 
many a fair cloth she embroidered for 


64 The Days before the Storm. 

that service. During that time we 
worked in the chapel she would lock it 
against all comers lest, I thought, people 
should know and praise her virtue. 
Virtue she did not esteem it, but a great 
dignity and honor to her that she 
should do such things. No wonder in- 
deed she was so loyal to an earthly king, 
being loyal first of all to a heavenly! 

I think none but Father Gordon, her 
confessor and the house-chaplain, fully 
knew how bright was her soul : yet it 
shone in the joy of her face making it 
beautiful for all to see. Indeed in that 
castle of Tarraglas though the Lady 
Nithsdale held her state with the best, 
so great was the atmosphere of her 
virtues that I believe no light or ill- 
natured word was heard. If any such 
thing had arisen my lady had soon 


The Days before the Storm. 65 

quenched it. Yet as merry and in- 
nocently gay as any was she; and her 
hidden piety no mar- joy; and full of 
spirit and courage and loyalty for all 
her delicate face and golden hair. 

Now in the rear view from my win- 
dow there stood out one thing clearly. 
It might be a mile away on the moor, 
at the edge of where it dipped to a little 
valley, that a graystone house looked 
from a little plantation of firs and larches. 
When I had first looked from the win- 
dow I had asked my lady who might 
dwell there. 

“Why, no one, Janet,’’ she had said 
roguishly, “except an old gillie and his 
wife who keep it warm against the ar- 
rival of its true owners. Can you guess 
who they shall be?” 

I shook my head though I think I 


66 The Days before the Storm. 

knew right well, and I could not keep 
my knowledge out of my face. 

‘‘It is for my lord’s new factor,” she 
said, “a very worthy Welsh gentleman 
by the name of Griffith Morgan, when 
he shall come to take it.” 

After that I will not deny that I 
never looked out of the window without 
thinking upon that house which might 
perhaps one day cover my head. Yet I 
would not think too much upon it be- 
cause there were other things within my 
thoughts. Within a year after I had 
come to Tarraglas the chimneys of the 
house smoked abundantly in the midst 
of the little coppice; for the new owners 
were come, and the old gillie and his 
wife, with their starveling fire, were dis- 
possessed. And ’twas long since I had 
looked on a sight so friendly as these 


The Days before the Storm. 67 

chimneys all a-smoking, so that I used 
to stand by the window often, and feel 
that I had something of their warmth 
in my heart. 

Certainly I was very glad to see those 
friends again, and to hear the tidings 
they brought me from my beloved home. 
It was most pleasant too to have their 
companionship, more especially as my 
friend was faithful to our bond, and did 
not press me unduly, although I think 
if he had he would have had my lady on 
his side. 

Yet I would be closer to her than the 
graystone house: and as though to rivet 
my chains there came to her in the 
years after her marriage two beautiful 
gold-haired sons whom they called Ala- 
stair and Archie. 

The love that grew up in my heart 


58 The Days before the Storm. 

for the two little lords was quite beyond 
telling. It was not that they pushed my 
lady out of my heart as she used to say, 
rallying me. It only was that there is 
something in the love of children that 
transcends all other love in its pity and 
protection. Even when the little Lord 
Alastair was yet a wee babe, and his 
brother not thought of, I have sat with 
him in my arms, feeling such a great 
smart of love and compassion as though 
my heart should break. 

The Lord Alastair was a brave, bright 
boy with blue eyes long-lashed, and hair 
of a dark gold. There were times when 
it might have passed for brown, but as 
you will see a peat-fire when it is dis- 
turbed give out a glorious procession of 
sparks so lurked the fire-flies in his hair, 
and flew at every movement. He was 


The Days before the Storm. 69 

wild and easily excited : and full of 
pretty mischief from the time he could 
sit upright. 

His brother was more sedate. He 
had the pale warm hair of his mother, 
fine as floss silk; his eyes were hazel- 
grey like hers. He had by far the more 
placid disposition and easy temper ; 
though the little Lord Alastair if he was 
sudden and noisy in anger was also 
sweet, easily distracted from his troubles, 
and ready to forgive. 

Indeed, a nobler pair of children could 
not be imagined, and I loved them like 
their mother. I had been their nurse if 
I might: indeed I envied those who had 
the washing and dressing of their pretty 
persons, and who heard their soft breath- 
ing the night long. Yet my lady needed 
me for so many other things that I 


The Days before the Storm. 


70 

could not be altogether nurse: but was 
never long absent from the nursery where 
Nurse Elspeth, who had nursed my lord, 
did the like for his little sons. 

My lord and my lady both took great 
pride and pleasure in their beautiful boys. 
Yet I have seen them sit hand in hand, 
wordless, looking upon them, with a 
shadow in their faces. I knew of course 
what it portended, for my lord was now 
sunk shoulder-high in what they called 
treason in London, though we called it 
loyalty. And my lady, for all her soft- 
ness, was as deep in as he, and being 
thorough in all she did would not, I 
think, have grudged to carry a sword by 
her lord’s side. 

'‘If the worst should come to the 
worst, Janet,” she said, "and these lambs 
be left fatherless and motherless ’tis to 


The Days before the Storm. 


71 

your love and your friend’s we com- 
mend them under God. If we are de- 
feated you must take them and flee with 
them into shelter till quieter days shall 
return and they may claim their own.” 

‘‘Ah, my lady,” said I, “that will not 
be. God will protect the right and bring 
the king to his own again.” 

“I know not, Janet,” she said sadly, 
“though I pray it may be so. Yet we are 
a handful against those Southerners ; and 
we know not when we march South how 
many will come to the king’s standard.” 

“It might be so happy here and so 
safe,” I said, wistfully. 

“True, Janet, but I would not keep 
my lord if I could. There are cowards 
and traitors enough; and ’twere better 
our sons were wanderers on the earth 
than possess a less noble father.” 


72 


The Days before the Storm. 


Her eyes flashed, and her head was 
lifted as she said it. Alas, that one so 
gentle and so true should have been 
born into such troublous times! 


CHAPTER V. 


DISASTER. 

JT was in the autumn of the year that 
one came to Tarraglas for whom 
it was our delight to suffer all things. 
In Scotland we called him the Prince: 
in France he was known as the Che- 
valier St. George. I shall never forget 
how my heart beat when I was permitted 
to look upon him by stealth. It was at 
the dinner in the hall the evening of 
his coming; and I was one of the many 
who peeped above the gallery-rail to 
look upon his face with worship. 

He sat at a little table slightly raised 
above the level of the others, yet so close 


73 


74 


Disaster. 


to the long table that my lady was al- 
most his neighbor. Across the fair 
damask of the cloth was stretched a piece 
of cloth of gold. He ate from a golden 
dish, and my lord himself served him, 
pouring him wine from a golden ewer. 
The chair in which he sat was high- 
backed and ancient. My lady herself 
had embroidered it against his coming, 
with a crown and the lions of England 
upon his footstool. 

My lady too would have served him, 
but he had taken her hand and placed 
her in a chair on his right hand. 

^Taith, Nithsdale,” I heard him say 
to my lord, from my place above him 
in the musicians’ gallery, ‘‘this is fine 
treatment for a man who may be scur- 
rying in caves, or on the naked moun- 
tain, this day month.” 


Disaster. 


75 

I could not hear my lord’s answer: 
but I noted how my lady’s eyes were 
hardly ever from his face, and how bright 
they were as they looked upon him. 
Certainly if those Stuarts could do 
naught else they could provoke love. 

It had been my lady’s will that the 
little Lord Alastair should come to the 
banquet, and there he sat in his high 
chair, drinking milk from a silver cup, 
and gazing quaintly at the dark stranger 
at the high table who for once had put 
his little Lordship out of the first place 
in men’s minds. He had knelt on one 
knee to kiss the Prince’s hand before the 
banquet began: and the strange serious- 
ness of his little face had made everyone 
merry. Dear little lad, he reflected the 
minds of other people in his sensitive one 
as the mirror reflects the things about 


^6 Disaster. 

it! and he knew that the Prince with 
his swarthy face and curling hair was 
one to be loved and revered. Therefore 
he gazed upon him over the rim of his 
cup with bright and worshipful eyes, 
though it was an hour when he should 
be abed, and the lights and music might 
well have dazzled him. 

There also on the Prince's left hand 
sat the noble Lord Kenmure. As I 
gazed upon his bonny face 'twas' little 
I thought how soon the clouds would be 
over it. He too was of the true faith, 
as was my Lord Derwentwater. There 
too was his lady, black-eyed and black- 
haired with the skin like the sunny side 
of the peach and a stature surpassing 
that of most women. 

The Lord Kenmure was the very 
flower of Highland chivalry. His own 


Disaster. 


77 

people adored him, and he was most 
happy in the love of his young wife and 
his beautiful children. Fearless and gen- 
erous he made a gallant figure wherever 
he went; and he was truly pious, and 
fulfilled his duties to his people with a 
sense that God had placed him above 
them as their friend and father. 

Poverty there was not in our Highland 
glens, where we lived as one family. It 
was a hard race framed for endurance 
and sacrifice, heeding little the wind and 
the weather, solitary, by reason of the 
great stretches of moor and heather, 
austerely pious and fearlessly brave. 

I may say it now that my lord lives 
while the noble Kenmure is dead, that 
much loved as the Lord of Nithsdale was 
the Lord Kenmure was yet better. As 
I think of the bonny face with the lint- 


y% Disaster. 

white locks about it I fall to crooning the 
song they made for him then. 


Oh, Kenmure’s on and awa’, Willie, 

Oh, Kenmure’s on and awa’, 

And Kenmure’s Lord is the bravest Lord 
That ever Galloway saw. 

Success to Kenmure’s band, Willie, 
Success to Kenmure’s band! 

There’s no’ a heart that fears a Whig 
That rides by Kenmure’s hand. 


His lady’s cheek was red, Willie, 

His lady’s cheek was red ; 

When she saw his steely jupes put on 
Which smelt of deadly feud. 

Here’s Kenmure’s health in wine, Willie, 
Here’s Kenmure’s health in wine ! 

There’s ne’er a coward o’ Kenmure’s blood. 
Nor yet o’ Gordon’s line. 

There’s a rose in Kenmure’s cap, Willie, 
There’s a rose in Kenmure’s cap. 

He’ll steep it red in ruddie heart’s blude 
Afore the battle drap. 

Here’s him that’s far awa’, Willie, 

Here’s him that’s far awa’ ! 

And here’s the flower that I love best. 

The rose that’s like the snaw ! 


Disaster, 


79 


Oh, Kenmure’s lads are men, Willie, 
Oh, Kenmure’s lads are men. 

Their hearts and swords are mettle true 
And that their foes shall ken. 

They will live or die wi’ fame, Willie, 
They will live or die wi’ fame ; 
And soon wi’ sounding victory 

May Kenmure’s lads come hamel 


Even then the countryside was ring- 
ing with the song, and the Highlanders 
were trooping to the banners of Ken- 
mure and Nithsdale. 

A day later the Lords rode with the 
Prince to meet the Earl of Mar and 
ride southward to join with the English 
Lords across the Border who were wear- 
ing the White Rose. To see our lads 
drawn up in line the day they marched 
was to feel sure of victory. They were 
singing the song of Lord Kenmure and 
marching to it, and a brave sight they 


8o 


Disaster. 


made in their kilts with the pale winter 
sun glinting on their dirk-handles and 
the brooches of their plaids. 

To his grief my lord had bade Griffith 
to remain, yet I could not but be proud 
of his trust in him, for in his hands he 
left my lady and the bonny babes. My 
lady would have followed her lord if she 
might: but he bade her stay, and she 
obeyed him in all things, light as well 
as heavy. And this was no light thing, 
for I heard her plead with him that she 
should follow at a safe distance with an 
escort and riding. ‘‘And,” said she, “if 
it came to the worst and the day was 
lost I should even turn and ride for 
home for the children’s sake.” “I doubt 
not that you think you would, sweet- 
heart,” he answered her: “but I fear 
you would forget then^ and ride to my 


Disaster. 


8i 


succor. Believe me, dear, men fight 
better when they know their ladies in 
safe keeping: and the country will be 
full of the Hanoverians once they dis- 
cover we are marching upon them.’^ 
Then, though she cried out tenderly upon 
his cruelty she stayed: though, I gues- 
sed her staying was harder than his 
going. 

They had not marched more than 
three days before the snow began to 
fall : and this was grievous, for not 
only would it surprise our men, but it 
would shut us away from tidings of 
them. It fell for many hours: and in- 
deed my trouble for my lady was very 
sore, for she had no happiness in any 
way, nor ease, but was like a sick person 
to whom every posture is a suffering. 
For she would be nursing her children 


82 


Disaster. 


one minute, and then she would put 
them away as though the pain were too 
great, and then she would be walking 
the corridor; or she would be in my 
lord’s rooms folding his garments and 
touching the things that belonged to 
him as though they lived and were some- 
thing to be cherished. Again she would 
try to read, or to play on the harp; or 
she would sit to her embroidery frame: 
but there was no ease in anything, and 
» outside the snow fell and drifted unceas- 
ing. 

‘If I could but be out and walk on 
the moors, Janet,” she said, “I could 
ease myself, but to do nothing is torture.” 

“Why,” said I, “you might be pray- 
ing, my lady.” 

“Ah,” she said, “you are right, Janet. 
It is the only true heartease.” 


Disaster, 8 ^ 

And when next I looked for her, be- 
cause it was time she should eat, I found 
she had forgotten everything but her 
prayers, and was once more quiet. 

The waiting was indeed hard to bear, 
yet the time passed, in time, though we 
had thought it would never have an end. 
Alas, the news when it came was blacker 
than the suspense, for our Highlanders 
came back, though some perished in the 
snow, — came back with stories of dis- 
aster. When Griffith heard the first 
whisper of the ill tidings he was beside 
himself with the grief and trouble, and 
knew not how he was to break them to 
my lady. But while yet we hesitated, 
there was another messenger on the way, 
for while my lady looked from her win- 
dow across the moorland road, dream- 
ing no doubt that that way her lord 


84 Disaster. 

would return to her, she saw coming 
fast a riderless horse, and knew it for 
Bruce, my lord's favorite, the black 
horse with never a white hair, that had 
borne him away so bravely. 

Another woman had fainted, but not 
so my lady. I was coming up the stair 
when I met her descending, and her 
cheek was frozen white, white as the 
hills and the moors outside. 

‘‘Something has happened to my lord, 
Janet," she said, not pausing, “for Bruce 
has come home." 

I turned and went down after her. In 
the hall I cast a plaid over her head 
and shoulders and she let it remain, as 
though she knew not that 'twas there. 
As we cast the great house-door wide 
we heard the horse whinny at the castle 
gates. 


Disaster. 

My lady bade the gate-keeper unbar 
them. The horse came in with a hang- 
ing head, and dead-tired. My lady took 
the black muzzle between her white 
hands, and laid her cheek to it, and 
said she — 

‘‘Where have you left my lord, Bruce ? 
For you have ever carried him faith- 
fully.’’ 

“Alas, my lady,” said I, at her elbow, 
“they are saying my lord is a prisoner 
in the Tower with the Lords Kenmure 
and Derwentwater ; and the Prince is 
fled back into France.” 

“Alas, alas!” she echoed, still fondling 
the horse, “is it so, Janet? I have known 
by my heart there would be ill tidings 
this time back. Yet my lord lives!” 

“He lives and is well,” I said. 

“I knew there was calamity, but not 


86 


Disaster, 


the worst, — not the worst even when I 
saw Bruce coming. I feared my lord 
might be wounded. Should I not have 
known if I were a widow? But the 
Prince, alas, the Prince 

^‘You will take cold in the snow, my 
lady. Let me call a groom to take Bruce 
to his stable.” 

“Let him be fed, and wrapped warmly, 
and rest. He will carry my lord again !” 
she said. 

Her spirit already was beginning to 
live again. 

“Come to your little children, my 
lady,” I said, as I went with her into 
the house. “They will comfort you.” 

“Nay — ^Janet,” she said. “It is no 
time for thinking of comfort. To-mor- 
row morn we must be away.” 

“Whither, my lady?” 


Disaster. 


87 

London to fling myself at the 
Elector's knees. I shall bring back my 
lord, Janet.” 

*‘To London! in the snow!” 

^‘It must be in the snow, for there 
is no sign of a thaw.” 

‘‘But how shall we go?” 

“We shall ride, Janet. You are not 
afraid?” 

“Never, to follow you. Will Griffith 
go with us?” 

“I think not. Are we to leave my 
lord’s sons unguarded?” 

“There is no one else here but the 
old and the halt and the blind.” 

“The more reason that Griffith should 
stay. It might be that he would have 
to flee with the children. You are not 
afraid, Janet?” 

“Not to go where you go,” I said again. 


88 


Disaster. 


‘‘No one will molest us. In this hard 
weather we shall meet but our High- 
landers fleeing North. If the Elector’s 
troops follow them the name of Niths- 
dale will carry me scathless, even though 
my lord be in the Tower.” 

“But the highwaymen?” 

“They are good Jacobites. I have but 
to tell them my name and my errand to 
pass free. Now come with me, Janet. 
There is something I must do ere I lie 
down this night.” 

Without further parley I followed 
her. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE JOURNEY TO LONDON. 

^HE way she led me was to my lord's 
private room, where she unlocked 
in the wall a little safe or strong room 
of iron. As I could see, it was full of 
papers, neatly tied and folded. She be- 
gan to sift them rapidly, and as she did 
she asked of me if I could make her a 
fire. When I returned with the wood 
and peat, the tinder-box and touchwood, 
she had already set to one side a great 
heap of them, while on the other side she 
had laid many into a box. As the wood 
caught and the flames began to leap 
about the obstinate peat she carried the 
loose papers one after the other and set 
89 


The Tourney to London. 


90 

them to burn. When the last one had 
crumbled in ash she asked me if I knew 
where Griffith was. 

‘‘He has ridden/’ I answered, “South, 
to gather what tidings he might of our 
men. He will be back by nightfall.” 

“That will be too late,” said my lady. 
“You must help me then, Janet. Do you 
think we could carry this box between 
us?” 

“Whither, my lady?” 

“No further than the gardens, Janet. 
These papers will preserve our sons’ in- 
heritance till happier days, if the worst 
happens.” 

“I would carry it far for that,” said L 

As we passed through her rooms my 
lady added to the box the most precious 
of the jewels; and then we took not 
the front staircase, but a private way to 


The Journey to London. 


91 

the gardens that led from her chamber. 
Certainly the box was heavy carrying 
being made of iron and clamped with 
heavy bolts and bars. 

At the foot of the stairs my lady 
rested. 

‘‘Could you find some gardener’s tools, 
Janet?” she asked. “We shall have to 
make a great hole for this.” 

I did not ask her to let a servant do 
it: for I knew it was a precious secret 
to be shared between us twain. Fortun- 
ately I was strong, like one of our little 
Welsh ponies, Griffith would say, with 
joy in my health and strength. 

I found a pick and a shovel and 
brought them to her. The garden was 
a waste of snow, deep-drifted, and there 
was none to observe us but the robins 
singing as they will sing when it grows 


The Journey to London. 


92 

near to the birthday of Our Lord. A 
color had come into my lady’s cheeks, 
and her eyes were bright. This having 
a thing to do was delivering her from 
that despair that had crushed her. 

‘Tf it had been frost instead of snow,” 
she said, merrily shovelling, ‘‘we had 
never made our hole deep enough, Janet.” 

Under the snow the earth was soft 
enough, yet we took a long time to it. 
However, we buried the box at last, and 
shovelled the snow over its bed. When 
it was done we went back to the Castle 
and my lady ate hungrily. I vow I was 
rejoiced to see her, for she had starved 
of late; and when I said as much she 
smiled. 

“I shall eat, Janet,” she said, “and I 
shall sleep, though my lord is in the 
Tower. Would you have me falling from 


The Journey to London. 


93 


my horse to-morrow?” and once again 
I marvelled at the stout spirit in her 
beautiful frail body. 

Griffith returned at nightfall. He had 
met with some of our men and had had 
all the ill tidings made sure. At first he 
was sorely troubled that my lady and 
I should ride to London and without 
him. But what could he say when my 
lady put the children into his hands? 

‘There must be some one,” she said 
sweetly, “whom I can trust as I can trust 
myself, to save them if need be.” 

“But if they cast you into prison, my 
lady?” 

“If they do I shall be no worse off 
than my lord. And we shall know our 
sons are safe.” 

“You will take Red Jock Ellitt, my 
lady, since you will not take me. He 


The Journey to London. 


94 

is brave as a lion and as faithful as a 
dog/' 

‘‘I will take whom you will, so you 
will keep my bairns yourself. Do not 
fear, Griffith," she said, putting a white 
hand on his arm, ‘‘but Janet will come 
back safe." 

“If you do not, my lady, and my lord, 
there will be scant joy for Janet and me." 

“That is in the hands of God, Grif- 
fith. But yet, I think I shall come back 
and my lord with me, and we shall be 
happy together." 

We rode off next morning at glint 
of day when the little ones were but 
half-awake. I would have wept over 
them but for the sight of my lady's spirit, 
for she would not have the little Lord 
Alastair frightened, so she bade him be 
a good boy and take care of wee Archie 


The Journey to London. 


95 

while she went to fetch their daddie. 
At which the little Lord, who had pined 
for his father, was joyful and told her 
to hasten back with him, and to be sure 
to say that he had wanted him sore. 

So we left them dry-eyed, though my 
lady’s face was white as she turned from 
the door of that safe and warm nest. 

My Griffith bade us good-bye sorrow- 
fully. As soon as the thaw came — and 
already the wind breathed from the South 
-^he was to send messengers with my 
lady’s boxes, for ’twas but little we could 
take a-horseback except a change of 
clothing. Yet, when we had gone I was 
gladder to know him there with the 
bairns than to have him by my side. 

Indeed we were glad to have Red 
Jock with us for all he looked as wild 
as a river-horse, for he was exceedingly 


96 


The Journey to London. 


gentle and as strong as a bull. He rode 
before us part of the time to find the 
places where the snow was deep: and it 
was due to his patience and his care that 
we ever made that journey in safety. 

We rode fifty miles a day through the 
snow, changing horses at every posting- 
house we came to ; and if our nags were 
not sorrier than they were it was be- 
cause Red Jock with his fierce eyes under 
the shock of his red hair, and the angry- 
sounding gutterals of his Gaelic did appal 
hostlers and landlords alike. 

Certainly it was something strange to 
see two women, one so evidently of 
high degree, riding in the winter storm 
with only this wild groom for company. 
Yet we went without mishap, and re- 
ceived some very tender kindnesses on 
our way which never shall be forgotten. 


The Journey to London. 


97 

and that I think was due to the beauty 
and youth of my lady, and the sweetness 
which has brought men and women alike 
to be her bond-slaves. Indeed she rested 
far less than I would have had her : and 
surely it was a killing thing to be in the 
saddle so many hours for so many days, 
yet I think my lady had never looked 
better albeit there was all that trouble 
and sorrow. 

We had scarcely crossed the Border 
before the snow had all vanished, and 
there was a mild wind from the south- 
west, so that we might hope presently 
for tidings from Griffith of the precious 
bairns. 

As we came nearer London my lady’s 
strength at last began to flag, so that I 
longed that we were in the great city, 
and in lodgings where she might rest 


gS The Journey to London. 

her wearied limbs. She had been more 
than mortal woman: and it was scarce 
matter for wonder that by the time we 
reached Barnet she began to rock in her 
saddle. 

It was there we met with that pair of 
highwaymen whom I shall never forget, 
for they rode out of a wood about dusk, 
and before we knew where we were one 
had covered Red Jock with his pistol, 
and the other had caught our horses by 
the bridle. They were two very tall fel- 
lows with masks covering the lower parts 
of their faces, and they rode exceeding 
tall horses, so that they seemed to tower 
above us in the dusk. 

Red Jock would have drawn, although 
it meant instant death, if my lady had 
not called to him to desist. Then leaning 
towards the highwaymen she said sweetly : 


The Journey to London. 


99 


“Gentlemen, will you not allow a poor 
woman to pass who goes to see her hus- 
band in the Tower/’ 

“And who may that be, Madam?” 
asked the taller highwayman, lifting his 
hat : and by his air and his voice I knew 
he was no common fellow. 

“If you please. Sir, I am the Lady 
Nithsdale.” 

At the word the two fell back, uncover- 
ing their heads, and he who had had his 
pistol at Red Jock’s eyebrow lowered 
it so that he was at the man’s mercy. 

“I have worn the White Rose myself, 
my Lady Nithsdale,” said the highway- 
man, — “else perhaps I had not been earn- 
ing a living this way. Hawks do not 
pyke out hawks’ e’en, as you say in bonny 
Scotland. Pass, my Lady Nithsdale, and 
God go with you!” 


LOFC. 


lOO 


The Journey to London. 


But at that moment my lady fell for- 
ward in her saddle. Now I believe that 
God sent us the highwaymen or what 
should we have done? For in an instant 
the greater of the two was off his horse 
and had spread his cloak on the ground, 
and laid my lady upon it. And the lesser 
had brought a flask of French cognac 
from his saddle-flap and was forcing 
some of the liquor between her teeth. 
There they were defenseless on the high 
road, forgetting in their charity their 
own unguarded estate, and with, I doubt 
not, a price upon their heads. Certainly 
I have had occasion many times to marvel 
at the great good in men : but never more 
than that night. 

At last kneeling by her side, I heard 
her sigh, and knew she was coming back 
to life. 


The Journey to London. loi 

“What are we to do now?” I asked 
them. “For she will not be able to sit 
her horse.” 

The taller took a watch from his 
pocket and regarded it by the moon’s 
light which had begun faintly to silver 
all about us. 

“In half an hour from this,” he said, 
“the coach will be at the crossroads. I 
must carry her there.” 

“You, Dickin?” said the other. “It 
will be guarded by soldiers and there is 
five hundred guineas out for you.” 

“If I lose my life, Ralph,” said the 
first, “I shall never do it in a better cause. 
But I shall not ask you to follow me. 
Still I need not lose it if these friends 
will not betray me.” 

“That shall we not,” said I. “And as 
for Jock there. ...” 


102 


The Journey to London. 


I said no more. Jock was watching 
their succoring of his mistress as a dog 
might, knowing himself helpless to do 
the things that were being done. 

My lady was not yet quite come to her- 
self, but the highwayman wrapped his 
cloak about her, and setting her in front 
of him with her head resting against his 
shoulder he turned his horse’s head. 
Jock led my lady’s horse and the other 
highwayman rode with me. I noticed 
now that they had removed their masks 
that they were fine, handsome fellows, 
gentlemen-born, as even a child could see. 

At the crossroads we waited till the 
coach came in sight. Fortunately it was 
moonlight and the sight of women in 
the party, and especially of my lady on 
the highwayman’s horse prevented their 
firing. The highwayman shouted to it 


The Journey to London. 


103 

to halt and the great carriage came to 
a standstill in midst of the road. 

“Here have we been set upon by high- 
waymen,” he cried dolorously, “and our 
poor women affrighted to death. Pray 
let us ride with you as far as the Three 
Tuns in Aldersgate Street, for we dare 
not face Hadley Wood again for fear of 
those knaves.” 

The people on the coach and the 
soldiers were in a great excitement, and 
my lady and I were taken into the body 
of the coach, where the ladies bestowed 
all manner of attention upon us. And 
right glad I was to see her rest against 
the padded cushions, being yet scarcely 
recovered from her swoon. In a little 
while I dozed myself, and knew no more 
till the coach lumbered into the yard of 
the Three Tuns. 


104 Journey to London. 

“The wild fellow is close behind, lead- 
ing three horses,” said the guard, pulling 
open the door; “but the gentlemen that 
came with your ladyships are nowhere 
to be seen.” 

“They have fallen behind, doubtless,” 
I said, “being in safety. We had ridden 
far, and our horses were tired.” 

“I thought they looked as fresh as 
ever I saw,” said the guard. “I mean 
those ridden by the gentlemen, for yours 
are very weary. I pray they may not 
have met with the highwaymen after all.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 

^^FTER a few days we changed our 
lodgings from the Three Tuns to 
be near my lord. My lady had been 
warned that if she visited the Tower 
she must stay there : and though no 
doubt she would have been rejoiced to 
share the same shelter with her lord 
that did not at all suit with her plans. 
However, her beauty, and graciousness 
with her gold pieces so prevailed with 
the jailers that she passed through to her 
lord without hindrance. The very first 
visit she paid him she betrayed to me 
what was in her mind, for when we were 


Io6 Shadow of Death. 

once more in a safe place she whispered 
to me: ^‘There is no good at all to be 
hoped for from his cell, for it is sixty 
feet high with a narrow window, and 
’tis overlooked by the By ward Tower. 
We must think upon some other way, 
Janet.’' 

For the trial was approaching at West- 
minster Hall, and no one doubted that 
the lords would be sentenced to be be- 
headed. Yet my lady never lost con- 
fidence that God would help her; and it 
was wonderful to see what high courage 
she had at a time which might well 
break down the strongest. 

Presently the trial was held and then 
it was easy enough to see my lord, for 
during several days the Governor of the 
Tower permitted the lords, his prisoners, 
between the morning and afternoon ses- 


In the Shadow of Death. 


107 

sions of the Court, to dine at the Fount- 
ain Tavern in the Strand, where any 
one might see them that would, only 
guarded by twelve stout fellows. 

During this time we had fared but 
ill, for I was in constant attendance on 
my lady, if it were not for a joyful sur- 
prise that befell us when there came with 
the boxes from Tarraglas no less a 
person than Mrs. Morgan. She had 
foreseen, what was indeed the fact, that 
being so greatly troubled and absorbed 
in my lord’s fate there would be none 
to see after our bodily comforts, and it 
would be left to some woman in our 
lodgings whether we fared well or ill. 
Not that it mattered for me but for my 
lady, and indeed it had been a matter of 
sorrow to me that I could not do all I 
would for her, since once the trial opened 


io8 


In the Shadow of Death. 


we were all day in attendance at West- 
minster Hall. 

Indeed Mrs. Morgan’s coming was 
most comforting. She had been some 
years in London during the lifetime of 
her late husband, and knew the manner 
of life there. The first thing she did was 
to find us a pleasant ancient house near 
the river, set in its own garden and 
walled about, which was more homelike 
and becoming for my lady. There we 
found Red Jock, whom we had left at 
the Three Tuns, already taking up his, 
duties as man servant. And there too 
came friends such as we had not known 
we and our cause possessed in the great 
city. 

The trial was but brief, and as we 
had foreseen the lords were condemned 
to die. I had feared the verdict for my 


In the Shadow of Death. 


109 

lady, but as it proved her faith stood 
her in good stead. Now that the date 
of execution was fixed we went in and 
out the Tower more freely. Sometimes 
I was admitted to my lord’s presence, 
and my heart bled to see their love for 
each other, while yet all was in suspense 
and the future looked black indeed. My 
lady had no hope now from the king’s 
clemency. Her friends, the Duchesses, 
had assured her that there was no hope 
for the Earl of Nithsdale because of his 
devotion to the Catholic faith. This my 
lord would not believe. ^‘He cannot re- 
sist you, Amy,” he said with tender gal- 
lantry. ‘‘No man living can if he were 
twenty times a Hanoverian.” But she 
only shook her head. 

We heard presently how the poor 
beautiful Lady Derwent water had been 


no 


In the Shadow of Death. 


introduced into the king’s presence by 
the Duchess of Richmond, and had 
prayed so hard for her lord’s life that all 
present were reduced to tears save only 
the king. He had heard her with the 
dull coldness that belonged to the Han- 
overians, and had dismissed her without 
hope. Her noble lord was beheaded on 
the 2 1 St of February, asserting to the 
last his loyalty to the king over the 
water. And now it was my lord’s turn 
next. 

More to please him than because she 
had the least hope she consented at last 
to present a petition to the king. I can 
tell what happened only from hearsay 
because that day Mrs. Morgan attended 
my lady, since she knew the king’s person 
and could point him out to my lady. 

She clad herself all in black. I think 


In the Shadow of Death. 


Ill 


she had meant to dazzle him for she had 
had her most beautiful apparel brought 
to her from the Highlands; but at the 
last she changed her mind, since it was 
necessary for her to slip into the palace 
by stealth. 

She therefore prepared her petition, 
and the day of the Drawing-room set 
out with Mrs. Morgan in a coach. She 
had clothed herself in black from head 
to foot, and in that sombre attire her 
beauty shone out startlingly great. In- 
deed I advised her to pull her veil over 
her face lest she should attract too much 
notice passing into the palace. 

Her friends had procured her a place 
in an ante-chamber through which the 
king must pass on his way to the 
throne-room, and there she stood, as 
’twere among the sightseers, in the 


II2 


In the Shadow of Death. 


rear of a window. Presently he came 
through, a short, pursy man without 
dignity, wearing a ribbon and a star. 
No sooner had he entered than my lady 
threw back her veil, and intercepting 
him fell at his feet. ‘‘What’s this ? 
What’s this?” he cried in a strong 
German accent. “The unhappy Countess 
of Nithsdale who prays your Majesty to 
read her petition,” my poor lady cried 
with the tears streaming from her eyes. 
“Ach,” he grunted, “I do not want to 
hear of traitors,” — or “draidors,” as he 
pronounced it. Then he tried to shake 
himself free of her, but she pressed the 
petition into his hands, clinging to his 
coat the while. He dragged her so, hold- 
ing him, on her knees across the apart- 
ment and the next to the very door of 
the throne-room. His gentlemen stood 


In the Shadow of Death. 


II3 

about not knowing what to do, for to 
use force with such a lady was no doubt 
little to their liking. 

At the throne-room door the king 
stopped and panted angrily. “Will no 
one deliver me,” he said, “from the Lady 
Nidsdale?” Then at last two of his 
gentlemen came forward and released the 
king from my lady’s hands, and when 
he had passed through, lifted her, half- 
fainting, from the floor. 

’Twas said afterwards the king would 
have granted her petition but that he had 
refused the Lady Derwentwater. 

When my lady returned with the tale 
there were gathered in the house by the 
river some few we could trust. There 
was a friend of Mrs. Morgan’s, Mrs. 
Mills by name, and a Miss Hilton, her 
niece. These were not only staunch 


In the Shadow of Death. 


II4 

friends to our cause, but had been won 
by my lady to be of her lovers, and had 
accompanied her to the Tower and were 
also devoted to my lord. 

These gathered in the drawing-room 
of the house to hear my lady’s report 
upon how her petition had fared. Bitter 
was our grief and indignation; and if 
the Usurper might but have heard our 
speech about him that night some of 
us had been sent to the Tower to keep 
my lord company. 

Mrs. Mills was a married woman, with 
a husband staunch enough but too fearful. 
Indeed the courage of many had been 
somewhat damped by the beheading of 
the Lords Derwentwater and Kenmure. 
So that though his heart was with us 
his counsels were of timidity, to the 
scorn of his wife, a fine rosy-cheeked 


In the Shadow of Death. 


II5 

matron, who would have died for the 
cause or for my lady. 

There was another in our counsel who 
was not present. Indeed we knew of her 
but by report, for she was far too valu- 
able to us and our cause to risk her 
safety by bringing her to the house of 
the Countess of Nithsdale. This was 
Peggy O’Brien, a poor Irishwoman, who 
sold apples and oranges in Drury Lane 
in the Winter, and travelled the country 
in Summer, carrying a motley assem- 
blage of things in her donkey-cart, and, 
under the crockery and the cheap mus- 
lins and stuffs, Jacobite despatches from 
one leader to another. 

By reason of her poverty and obscur- 
ity Peggy had never been suspected. She 
was to serve our purpose now right well. 

Presently while we sat there we heard 


Il6 In the Shadow of Death. 

a great bawling downstairs, as it were 
some animal in grief, and suddenly the 
door was flung open, and Red Jock burst 
into the room crying out that my lord 
was to be beheaded the next morning 
but one, that a messenger stood below 
from the Governor of the Tower saying 
that the king’s warrant had come. It 
was too true. The king, fearing perhaps 
that his resolution might yield if he 
waited, had hastened the execution. 

There was then such a sobbing in the 
room as never was; and it was hard to 
quiet Red Jock and lead him away, for 
he was like a wounded bull, and his eyes 
were full of blood while he vowed that 
he would kill the king if but a finger 
were laid upon his master. 

At last I got him away, and the hub- 
bub somewhat ceased. My lady had sat 


In the Shadow of Death. \\y 

through it pale and quiet, with never a 
tear. When she could command them 
she said: 

“Be quiet, friends, and listen to me, 
for my lord is yet worth many dead men. 
If he is to stay with us it needs calmness 
and courage from every one of us, for 
every one of us is to bear a part. And 
here we are all women, except the poor 
faithful fellow below. But we need not 
be ashamed of our sex seeing that God 
took His Mother from amongst us. And 
I am as satisfied as though we had many 
men.’’ 

“You can command Thomas Mills, 
my lady,” said Mrs. Mills, speaking up 
for her absent husband, “for though he 
talks like a coward he is no coward when 
the danger comes.” 

“I believe that indeed,” said my lady. 


Il8 In the Shadow of Death. 

‘‘We shall have need of him presently, 
I make no doubt.” 

After that we sat till late into the night 
talking of our plans ; and what they were 
you shall presently hear. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE ESCAPE. 

J^Y lady spent the forenoon of that 
last day with my lord, none gain- 
saying her now that the end was so 
near, and imparted to him the plans she 
had made. And now let me say once 
again how I marvelled at her courage 
and her guile, for one false step and the 
whole thing had failed. We had but to 
weep, and that was easy enough seeing 
that the times were heavy and the strain 
upon us so great. But on her, twenty- 
six years of age, and tenderly sheltered 
all her days, fell the burden of acting 
such a part that I doubt in the circum- 


120 


The Escape. 


stances any stage-player of them all had 
done as well. 

When she left my lord at the dinner- 
hour she said to him in the hearing of 
his jailor that she would return in the 
afternoon bringing her women to say 
farewell to him. Then she departed in 
tears, passing through the lieutenant’s 
house with her streaming eyes raised to 
Heaven so that all did pity her. 

There awaited her at the riverside 
house, besides us four women, Mr. 
Thomas Mills, whom his wife had per- 
suaded from his timidity. He was, in a 
coachman’s coat with capes and a coach- 
man’s three-cornered hat, to drive us, 
for he knew London well, and our poor 
Jock, who had driven us before, knew 
scarce as much as from our house to 
the Tower. 


The Escape. 


121 


We were all dressed in sombre ap- 
parel, and as we stood there awaiting 
the hour I could scarce forbear to smile 
at Mrs. Morgan’s appearance, for natur- 
ally stout she now seemed even greater 
in size. She had indeed a second dress, 
designed for a disguise for my lord, 
which belonged to Mrs. Mills, and was 
the same as one Mrs. Mills was then 
wearing. My lady carried in her reti- 
cule a wig which was the color of Mrs. 
Mill’s hair, and a supply of paint to 
alter my lord’s complexion. 

When we arrived at the Tower the 
afternoon had begun to fade. Mrs. 
Morgan entered with my lady and came 
back presently to summon me to bid 
my lord farewell, and if she had shrunk 
somewhat none noticed it but I. She 
led me in, I screeching into my handker- 


122 


The Escape. 


chief and trembling as I walked while she 
seemed to support me. After a time I 
came and fetched Mrs. Mills, and pres- 
ently Mrs. Mills fetched Mrs. Hilton. 
In fact we made such a coming and a 
going of it that, as we desired, the sen- 
tries were entirely bewildered as to how 
many of us there were. 

God knows how we had strength to 
do it. I believe it must have been given 
to us from on high. Such screeching 
and fainting and running hither and 
thither were never known, — and mean- 
while the sentries and jailors gazed at 
us with wonder and sympathy, and were, 
indeed, to give them but their due, ready 
to show us all the kindness in their 
power. 

In the midst of the hurly-burly then 
my lady rushed forth from the cell. 


The Escape, 


123 

‘‘Where is Mistress Betty she cried. 
“Oh, Mistress Betty, I will to the king 
even to-night. He cannot steel his heart 
against me.” 

We all ran to her and crowded about 
her while the warders turned their eyes 
away not to look upon our sorrow too 
curiously. She was half in, half out the 
cell, and my lord^s voice could be heard 
praying her for love of him to control 
her excessive trouble. Then we kept 
rushing to the coach for her vinaigrette 
and her salts, and as soon as we had 
somewhat recovered her she began to 
lament that she had not her petition with 
her. 

“Go, go. Mistress Betty,” she cried, 
“fly to my lodgings and bring Mistress 
Evans with the petition. She only knows 
where it is to be found. And hasten for 


124 


The Escape. 


mercy’s sake, for I will see the king 
to-night though I have to drag myself 
through his guards.” 

While this was going on my lord in 
his disguise had passed from the cell 
into our midst, — our midst, say I, yet I 
had already gained the coach, having 
come and gone on so many errands that 
the sentry at the last took no notice of 
my not returning. 

It was my lady herself led forth her 
lord through the lieutenant’s house. He 
had his handkerchief to his eyes and was 
sobbing in it while she adjured him like 
a creature crazed with grief to hasten, 
that she was in torture till the petition 
was in her hands. So did she pass him 
through the gates. 

She returned then and dismissed all 
but Mrs. Morgan who waited without; 


The Escape. 


125 


and reentering the cell she began a con- 
versation with my lord, which was 
audible to some little extent in the cor- 
ridor without. With the most incredible 
skill did she feign his voice so that Mrs. 
Morgan told us afterwards that she could 
scarce believe my lord was not there. 
After some considerable time had elapsed 
she came forth and holding the door 
half-way open she said that since Mis- 
tress Evans had not come that she must 
go to the king as she was, and would re- 
turn that night if the Tower were yet 
open, but if not would come at peep of 
day in the morning, and was confident 
of bringing a reprieve. Then she shut 
the door sharply, bringing down the latch 
so that it could be opened only from 
within, and turning encountered the valet 
whom she had hired to wait on my lord. 


126 


The Escape. 


“Do not disturb my lord,” she said, “for 
he is praying. When he needs you he 
will call for you.” 

Then she too went forth of the Tower 
where a second coach awaited her, and 
was driven a long distance into the city, 
where alighting she walked the remainder 
with Mrs. Morgan to Peggy O’Brien’s 
poor lodgings in Drury Lane where we 
awaited her. 

My lord and I had arrived there in 
safety, though we had had one great 
fright being stopped at Bishopsgate by 
the watch to know who we were. To 
which Mr. Mills had the wit to answer 
that he was the Lord Cowper’s servant, 
and we were allowed to pass. 

We remained there the better part of 
a week during which we lived almost en- 
tirely on bread and wine, for now the 


The Escape. 


127 

hue and cry was out, it was not thought 
wise to buy provisions more' than Peggy 
had stored. There in safety in our garret 
we heard the hue and cry pass by us; 
and Peggy returning every night from 
her orange-selling to our locked room 
brought us word of what was happening. 
I pray I may never have a worse refuge, 
for though poor it was delicately clean, 
with beds covered with clean patch-work 
and a little altar decked constantly with 
flowers. 

We had but two rooms opening out 
of each other, and we had to sit in the 
dark of evenings till Peggy returned, 
and had to walk cat-foot and dared not 
peep from our window on the swirling 
crowds of the Lane. Nevertheless I say 
may there never be a worse refuge for 
those I love in time of need! 


128 


The Escape. 


At the end of the week Mr. Mills 
brought us word that he had arranged 
to pass my lord as one of the suite of 
the Venetian Ambassador, who was about 
to embark at Dover for his own country. 
Then my lord went forth by night in 
very fine attire as a footman, and was con- 
veyed to the Ambassador’s house in May- 
fair, and escaped Without further mishap. 

But once he was gone my lady’s im- 
prudence somewhat frightened me, for 
she seemed to fear nothing for herself. 
We had heard how the lieutenant of the 
Tower going to visit his prisoner some 
hours after his escape had first discov- 
ered the matter; and how news being 
brought to the king he had burst out 
laughing and declared that Lady Niths- 
dale plagued him more than any woman 
in Europe. 


The Escape. 


129 


But at last word reached us from a 
private source — my lady had many 
friends at court — ^that the king talked 
of confiscating the Nithsdale estates. 
Then at last my lady was alarmed for 
her sons’ inheritance who had not feared 
for her own life. 

We therefore rode once more from 
London to Tarraglas, Mrs. Morgan fol- 
lowing us in a coach with our goods, 
and there we dug up the box we had 
buried, and taking the precious children, 
and accompanied by Mrs. Morgan and 
Griffith, we sailed in my lord’s boat — 
the same which had carried me from 
Wales to Scotland — to a French port, 
and from that made our way overland 
to my lord in Rome. 

Soon afterwards there was a great 
wedding. ’Twas in the chapel of the 


The Escape. 


130 

Scots College and ’twas as fine as an 
ambassador’s though I, Jane Evans, my 
lady’s woman, was the bride, and Griffith 
Morgan, my lord’s factor, the groom. 

We have our suite of rooms in my 
lord’s palace, a great house overlooking 
the Tiber and big enough to house a 
clan. So I am happy, being under the 
same roof with my lady and her children, 
and yet having my heart’s desire in 
other matters. 

Whether we shall ever return I know 
not. All I know is that it is good to 
be here under the protection of Christ’s 
Vicar on earth. 

My Griffith yet keeps my lord’s affairs, 
and hath travelled many times back to 
Tarraglas on his business. After all the 
king did not confiscate the Earl’s estates, 
but is satisfied to keep us exiles while 


The Escape. 


131 

he lives. The people never forget the 
Earl and my lady, and the house stands 
waiting for us as though we might come 
at any hour. I shall see it one day for 
I am to go with Griffith his next journey 
and abide a while with my parents in 
Wales. My only grief is that I should 
be so far from them. 

Now I will tell you the song the people 
sang when they heard the Lord Nithsdale 
had escaped, and faith, their love is the 
same to-day! 

‘ ‘ ‘ What’s news to me, carlin ? 

What’s news to me ? ’ 

‘ Enough o’ news ! ’ quo’ the lusty carlin, 

‘ Best news that God can gie ! ’ 

‘Has our true King come home, carlin?— 

Or the Duke hanged himsel’? 

Or has he ta’en frae the tithes, Willie, 

The hettest work o’ hell?’ 

“‘The Duke is hale and fair, carle, 

The Duke is hale and fair ; 

But our ain Lord Nithsdale 

Will soon be ’mang us here.’ 


132 


The Escape. 


‘Brush me my coat, carlin, 

Brush me my shoon ; 

I’ll awa’ and meet Lord Nithsdale 
When he comes to our touni’ 

“ ‘ Alak-the-day !’ quo’ the carlin. 
‘Alak-the-day !’ quo’ she. 

‘He’s ower in France at Charlie’s hand 
Wi’ only ae pennie.’ 

‘We’ll sell all our corn, carlin. 

We’ll sell all our beir, 

And we’ll send to Lord Nithsdale 
All our sette gear.’ 

“ ‘ Make the pipes blow, carlin, 

Make the pipes blow ! 

And make the lads and lasses baith 
Their souple legs shew ! 

We’ll a’ be glad, carlin. 

We’ll a’ be glad. 

And play the Stuarts back again 
To put the Whigs mad ! ’ ” 


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JUVENILES. 

Adventures op a Casket. 

Adventures of a French Captain. 

An Adventure with the Apaches. Gabriel Ferry. 
Anthony. A Tale of the Time of Charles II. of England. 
Armorer of Solingen. William Herchenbach. 

As True as Gold. Mary E. Mannix. 

Berkleys, The. Emma Howard Wight. 

Bertha; or, Consequences of a Fault. 

Better Part. 

Bistouri. a. Melandri. 

Black Lady, and Robin Red Breast. Canon Schmid. 
Blanche de Marsilly. 

Blissylvania Post-Office. Marion Ames Taggart. 

Bob o’ Link. Mary T. Waggaman. 

Boys in the Block. Maurice F. Egan. 

Bric-a-Brac Dealer. 

Bunt and Bill. Clara Mulholland. 

Buzzer’s Christmas. Mary T. Waggaman. 

By Branscome River. Marion Ames Taggart. 

Cake and the Easter Eggs. Canon Schmid. 

Canary Bird. Canon Schmid. 

Captain Rougemont. 

Cassilda; or, The Moorish Princess. 

Catholic Home Library, io vols. Each, 

Cave by the Beech Fork, The. Spalding, S.J. Cloth, 
College Boy, A. Anthony Yorke. Cloth, 
Conversations on Home Education. 

Dimpling’s Success. Clara Mulholland. 

Episodes of the Paris Commune. 

Every-Day Girl, An. Mary C. Crowley. 

Fatal Diamonds. E. C. Donnelly. 

Finn, Rev. F. J., S.J.: 

His First and Last Appearance. Illustrated. 

That Football Game. 

The Best Foot Forward. 

Ethelred Preston. 

Claude Lightfoot. 

Harry Dee. 

Tom Playfair. 

Percy Wynn. 

Mostly Boys. 

Fisherman’s Daughter. 

Five O’ Clock Stories; or. The Old Tales Told Again. 
Flower of the Flock, The, and the Badgers of Belmont. 
F. Egan. 

Fred’s Little Daughter. Sara Trainer Smith. 

9 


O 45 
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o 4<; 
o 45 
o 40 
o 45 
o 45 
o 45 
o 45 
o 45 
o 25 
o 45 
o 45 
o 45 
o 25 
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o 45 
o 25 
o 45 
o 25 
o 40 
o 45 
o 45 
o 45 
o 85 
o 85 
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o 45 
o 45 
o 45 

0 25 

1 00 
o 85 
o 85 
o 85 
o 85 
o 85 
o 85 
O 85 
o 85 

O 45 
o 75 
Maurice 
o 85 

o 45 


Gertrude’s Experience. ' o 4§ 

Godfrey the Hermit. Canon Schmid. o as 

Golden Lily, The. Katharine T. Hinkson. o 45 

Great Captain, The. By Katharine T. Hinkson. o 45 

Great-Grandmother’s Secret. o 45 

Haldeman Children, The. By Mary E. Mannix. o 45 

Harry Dee; or. Working It Out. By Father Finn. o 85 

Harry Russell. A Rockland College Boy. By Rev. J. E. 

Copus, S.J. [Cuthbert]. o 85 

Heir of Dreams, An. Sallie Margaret O’Malley. o 45 

Her Father’s Right Hand. o 45 

His First and Last Appearance. By Father Finn. i 00 

Hop Blossoms. Canon Schmid. o 25 

Hostage of War, A. Mary G. Bonesteel. o 45 

How They Worked Their Way. Maurice F. Egan. o 75 

Inundation, The. Canon Schmid. o 40 

Jack Hildreth Among the Indians. 2 vols. Each, o 85 

Jack Hildreth on the Nile. Marion Ames Taggart. Cloth, o 85 
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Juvenile Round Table. First Series. Stories by the Best 
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Klondike Picnic. Eleanor C. Donnelly. o 8$ 

Lamp of the Sanctuary. Cardinal Wiseman. o 25 

Legends of the Holy Child Jesus from Many Lands. A. Fowler 
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Little Missy. Mary T. Waggaman. o 45 

Loyal Blue and Royal Scarlet. Marion A. Taggart. o 85 

Madcap Set at St. Anne’s. Marion J. Brunowe. o 45 

Marcelle. a True Story. ©45 

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Master Fridolin. Emmy Giehrl. o 25 

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Olive and the Little Cakes. o 45 

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II 


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Miss Erin. A Novel. M. E. Francis. i 

Monk’s Pardon, The. Raoul de Navery. i 

Mr. Billy Buttons. A Novel. Walter Lecky. i 

Outlaw of Camargue, The. A Novel. A. de Lamothe. i 
Passing Shadows. A Novel. Anthony Yorke. i 

Pere Monnier’s Ward. A Novel. Walter Lecky. i 

PiLKiNGTON Heir, The. A Novel. By Anna T. Sadlier. i 

Prodigal’s Daughter, The. Lelia Hardin Bugg. i 

Red Inn of St. Lyphar, The. A Romance of La Vend<^e. 


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Romance of a Playwright. Vte. Henri de Bomier. i 

Round 'Table of the Representative American Catholic 
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Ruler of The Kingdom, The. And other Phases of Life and 
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That Man’s Daughter. By Henry M. Ross. i 25 

True Story OF Master Gerard, The. By Anna T. Sadlier. 1 25 
Unraveling op a Tangle, The. By Marion A. Taggart. i 25 
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Way that Led Beyond, The. By J. Harrison. i 25 

Woman of Fortune, A. Christian Reid. i 25 

World Well Lost. Esther Robertson. o 75 

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12 


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Our Lady of Good Counsel in Genazzano. 

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so 

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13 


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14 


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